Older than Words

No matter where I go in the world, I seek wild places. If I cannot find wilderness, then a place where there are more plants than people will do. Wandering through the National Botanic Gardens in Dublin one icy, grey January day, I imagine how this expanse looked when the Vikings invaded Ireland in the 8th century: “wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern” (Gerard Manley Hopkins, “Inversnaid”). Wild oaks clawed at the stars. Brambles raked the backs of unwary beasts. And then came humans:

Long ago the heath
was tamed into a garden
dotted with duck ponds.

Still, there are whiffs of wildness in this place: the raven, bragging of its exploits; the lugubrious willow, mourning the loss of its summer finery; even the eastern breeze trying to be polite as it rustles the reeds. By a language older than words, my soul is restored.

Awesome photo … and that haiku …just wonderful. I love the heath and wild nature. Most of the wild nature in my country is cultivated, but nearby my home we have a great wilderness. Just around the corner it looks like I am traveling back to earth’s beginning. Awesome place to be, to contemplate and meditate.